by Mark Sennen
‘Hello, Dad.’ Silva removed her foot from the jetty and waited for her father to rise. ‘I’m back.’
‘So I see.’ Her father put the pole down and pushed himself up from the chair. Silva moved aside as he walked towards her. ‘Matthew called to let me know you’d be coming. Itchy all right?’
‘He’s fine. Richer. Then again he’s going to need the money with the kid on the way.’
‘A kid, eh? Boy or girl?’
‘Itchy wants a girl.’ Silva smiled to herself as her father frowned.
‘Right.’ They strolled up towards the terrace. The table had three glasses. Lemonade. Just like before. He gestured for Silva to sit. ‘We’ll have tea later.’
‘Will we?’
‘Yes. I’ve made some sandwiches.’
Silva pointed at the third glass. ‘Are we expecting a visitor?’
‘We are.’
‘Might I ask who it is?’
‘You’ll see presently.’
‘Aren’t you going to say anything? About what happened?’
‘There’s no need. Karen Hope is dead. It’s over. Job done.’
Job done.
She wondered if it was ‘job done’. If, now Hope was dead, she’d be able to return to some kind of normality. He father certainly seemed to have moved on. There were builders round the front of the house dealing with the damage from the fire and on the table she could see an index card with her father’s handwriting scrawled on it. ‘Housekeeper Wanted’, it said at the top. Poor Mrs Collins wasn’t long in the ground and he was already advertising for her replacement.
‘Job done and you’re home safe.’ He looked over at her for the briefest of moments and then turned away. ‘That’s what matters.’
‘Dad, I—’
‘Rebecca?’ A glass chinked and she was aware of her father pouring the lemonade. ‘Our guest is here.’
She looked up as a figure passed in front of the sun.
‘Becca?’ An American accent. A hint of Irish. Whiskey, wood smoke, coffee, peach.
‘Sean.’ Silva answered flatly as she stood.
‘I’m sorry.’ Sean gave a tentative smile, putting out feelers.
‘You told your boss about me and he shopped me to Mavers.’
‘My head of station knew nothing about what Mavers was up to. Obviously he briefed the ambassador and the deputy ambassador, and that unfortunately put Mavers on to you. After I’d talked to my boss I tried to contact you, but couldn’t. I was so worried.’
‘You were worried? Mavers was going to torture me.’ Silva looked away. ‘Jesus, Sean, I was so scared.’
‘Ahem.’ Silva’s father made a waving motion from the other side of the table. ‘I’ll leave you two alone, but I just want to say something about this young man.’
‘Really, sir, there’s no need.’ Sean bowed his head.
‘There is a need.’ Silva’s father looked across with a scowl. ‘Rebecca is stubborn and difficult. She won’t listen if you tell her.’
‘Tell me what?’ Silva said.
‘Sean saved my life and probably saved yours too.’
‘What on earth are you talking about? He nearly got me killed.’
‘Perhaps, but after he failed to contact you he came here. Luckily those bunglers hadn’t set the fire very well and it took a while to take hold. Even so, had he not turned up I’d have been fried.’
‘Sean?’
Sean nodded.
‘And,’ Silva’s father continued, ‘he did something else. When I told him Mavers was involved he suggested we check out the black site, guessing you might have been taken there. I got the information to Matthew and he was able to effect a rescue.’
‘Right.’
‘So an apology is due.’ Her father rose from the chair and patted Sean on the shoulder. Cast Silva a glance. ‘OK?’
As her father walked off, Sean stepped forward. Silva held up her hands.
‘I killed Hope,’ she said.
‘Is that hope with a capital H?’ Sean said. ‘Or are you playing with words?’
‘No games. I need to know if you can accept what I did.’
‘A week ago the answer would have been “no”, but now I’ve been fully briefed and know the truth, yes I can. Karen Hope didn’t offer any kind of hope. If she’d stood for president millions of people would have voted for her, but she was a con. Once elected she’d have been in the pocket of Haddad and the Saudis. US foreign policy would have been shot to pieces.’ Sean tilted his head. ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean…’
‘And she killed my mother.’
‘That’s worst of all. In your situation I’d have played it exactly the same.’
‘Right.’
Silence for a beat and then a shrug from Sean.
‘So, are you going to give me a sit rep? Or is that information classified?’
‘The situation’s not great, to be honest. The terrorists are still out there, Haddad or his allies probably have a death squad after me, and what’s left of the Hope family will be seeking some kind of vengeance.’
‘Have you got protection?’
‘Nope.’
‘Doesn’t seem right after what you went through.’
‘They offered me a job. I guess it’s sort of carrot and stick. Take up their offer and stay safe, refuse and run the risk of getting popped.’
‘And are you going to take it?’
‘No.’ Silva gave a half smile. ‘Even though I am now unemployed.’
‘How come?’
‘I was sacked for taking too many days off. If only they knew.’
‘What are you going to do?’
‘I don’t know.’ Silva shrugged. ‘Stay here for a bit maybe. Help my dad with some stuff. See if Itchy needs a hand decorating his house.’
‘Doesn’t sound very edifying.’
‘After the last few weeks it’s exactly what I need.’
‘And when you’ve done helping and decorating?’
Silva didn’t answer. Was she really going to return to her boat, get another crap job, and just carry on with her life as if nothing had happened? That didn’t seem credible. What was the alternative though? Huxtable’s job offer was out, but perhaps Fairchild could find her something to do. Then again, did she want to join his band of mercenaries and get paid for being shot at? Probably not.
‘What about your side of things?’ she said.
‘All out damage control,’ Sean said. ‘The State Department are trying to placate our allies, while the Agency are coming to terms with the fact that they allowed this to happen in the first place. Operationally, Hope should never have been permitted to go off on her own in Tunisia, but the bigger issue is how she was ever allowed to rise to a position where she might become president. Of course the Agency isn’t allowed to operate inside the US, but somebody should have been feeding intelligence on Brandon Hope back to the Director of National Intelligence.’
‘And why weren’t they?’
‘Either nobody knew, which is bad enough, or somebody made the decision to keep quiet, which is worse. Heads will roll.’
‘And your own position?’
‘I hear I’m up for some internal commendation for helping to expose Mavers.’ Sean grinned. ‘What can I say? I’m just your average all American hero.’
‘Then I guess I’d better do as my dad said and apologise.’
Silence for a moment before Sean moved a step closer.
‘Rebecca?’ he said. ‘After all that’s gone on, I need to know where we are.’
‘We’re quits, that’s where we are. Same as before. No better no worse.’
‘And what about the future?’
Silva smiled at Sean as she reached for a glass of lemonade. ‘Let’s just say I’m thinking about it, OK?’
Epilogue
Irene Caxwell had tried for ages to get a rental for the little annexe attached to the rear of her bungalow. The place was small, admittedly, and perhaps not ideally located for tenants
who wanted easy access to the nearby town of Windsor. The lodgings were cold, too, but she’d had a wood burner installed and a big stack of logs sat ready for the fire. This winter the occupants would be toasty. Not that the summer was over yet, of course. September had so far been unseasonably warm, and the woods round her house still teemed with life. Swallows flitted back and forth, fattening themselves with the last of the season’s bounties before their long flight south. She could see rabbits hopping at the edge of the field, and the squirrels were causing havoc when she put food out for the birds.
The two men turned up late one evening. At first she felt a little unsettled. They were… not white.
Her unease soon vanished. Sabin and Mohid were both so friendly, so erudite and Sabin was, well, so beautiful. His face was angelic, with piercing eyes and flawless skin, a wisp of beard on his chin. They were students, Sabin explained, and had recently returned from a study trip abroad. Now they needed solitude to complete their PhDs in time for the end-of-year deadline. What were they studying, she enquired. Mohid’s PhD was to do with astro-something-or-other. Astrology? No, that didn’t sound quite right. Never mind. She remembered Sabin had said he was examining the Islamic diaspora. She didn’t know what diaspora meant, but Islam…
‘What do you mean, not white?’ her friend Sybil said when she told her about her new tenants.
‘They’re a couple of those…’ Irene said. ‘You know. Muslims.’
Sybil brushed aside Irene’s concerns. ‘I slept with one once. It was in Turkey. You remember the holiday I took a few years back? Well, it was then. A young Kurdish man. Very nice. Very… um… very… good.’
Irene’s mouth dropped open. ‘That was the holiday you took for your sixtieth!’
Sybil nodded, smiling. Something about her face. A warm glow. As if vitality could spring forth from a memory. ‘Yes.’
Irene showed Sabin and Mohid the annexe and explained it was completely separate from the main house. They’d be able to come and go as they wished. They both seemed pleased and asked if they could move in right away. And they’d pay cash, if that was OK?
OK? It was fine!
‘One thing,’ she said when they were back outside but before she accepted the money. ‘You wanted peace and quiet and solitude, but you do know what’s just over there?’
She pointed over the roof of the bungalow and as if by magic a huge shape loomed in the air, engines on full power, the fuselage seemingly close enough to reach up and touch. As several hundred tonnes of aluminium and passengers and aviation fuel crawled into the sky above them, the windows rattled and the ground beneath their feet shook.
‘Heathrow airport.’ Irene cocked her head. ‘Are you sure the planes won’t worry you?’
‘No,’ Sabin said. He glanced at Mohid and smiled as he looked up. ‘They won’t worry us one little bit.’
First published in the United Kingdom in 2020 by Canelo
Canelo Digital Publishing Limited
Third Floor, 20 Mortimer Street
London W1T 3JW
United Kingdom
Copyright © Mark Sennen, 2020
The moral right of Mark Sennen to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
ISBN 9781788639811
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places and events are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
Look for more great books at www.canelo.co
Table of Contents
Title Page
Epigraph
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Epilogue
Copyright
